The Philadelphia Story
by vikinglover elle
Summary: Entry for the Home Sweet Home Contest. Sookie has been living an uneventful life in the City of Brotherly Love until she meets a mystery man on the train while going to work. AH/AU/OOC M for language and content


**Entry for Home Sweet Home Contest**

**Title: The Philadelphia Story**

**Characters: Sookie, Eric**

**Word count: 8,527**

**Pen name: vikinglover elle**

**Beta: Suaru_chan**

**Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They belong to the wonderful Charlaine Harris.**

Philadelphia. Philly. The City of Brotherly Love.

What do most people think of when the city is mentioned? Cheese steaks? Pretzels? The Liberty Bell? Probably all of the above. What do I think of? That's easy. Home. It's where I was born and raised. Not that I didn't get away from it for a while and get to see some of the world, but Philly will always be home. I mean that literally. Since my Gran passed last year, I've had to move back to Philly from the lovely small town of Bon Temps, Louisiana.

How did I end up there, you ask? Simple. Tara. My best friend from high school and beyond, tricked me. She said, "Oh Sook, just come down for a visit, we'll have fun, blah, blah, blah…" Yeah, that visit went from one week, to two weeks, to a month, to me living there with her in a small two bedroom apartment. Why did I stay? I don't know really. I wanted to get out of my comfort zone and moving to bumfuck sure did that. But really, it's because I love Tara like a sister and we just let the good times roll.

So anyway, I'm here, as usual, on the morning regional commuter train into Center City. This Friday morning begins the same as any other. I have my ear buds in, listening to Sean Hayes sing me into a calming comatose state of mind. The commuter trains aren't horrible. It's anything else Septa (South Eastern Pennsylvania Transportation Authority) that sucks. You will never catch me on a bus. Ever. They run for shit and that's on a good day. I've had to hop on the subway a few times while downtown, but other than that, I'm on the train into work and back home. Just another boring day in my boring life and I couldn't be more… bored.

I think I blend in well with the morning crowd. My blonde hair stays slicked back in a perfectly composed chignon. My black pencil skirt which hugs my curves nicely, might I add, sits below my baby pink tank and black fitted blazer. Of course, my ensemble would not be complete (or me) without my comfy but businesslike black suede Steve Madden platform pumps. I say they're comfortable at four and a half inches high, because they are. The platform helps and I'm at home in heels.I wear delicate black framed eyeglasses to hide behind (not sure how effectively I hide, but whatever). My purse and small leather briefcase are tucked into my side in my seat. Legs folded at the ankles, eyes out the window, hands on my lap. Yup, I look just like everyone else.

Only, this would turn out to be a morning that isn't like every other. If I had known, I think I might have worn a sexier pair of heels. But as they say, hindsight and all that…

So what makes this morning so special in my typical boring day of days? It's not what, but who. As I said, I'm sitting in my usual seat (Yes, my usual seat. I get up early to get it so it's mine!) and something catches my eye, causing me to look away from the window and down the aisle. The doors open and on walks probably some kind of fashion model or something. Normal everyday guys just are not that gorgeous. At least not that I've seen. But yeah, back to sexy guy. He's wearing a charcoal, pinstripe suit with a blood red tie and crisp white shirt. His hair probably hangs to just below his ears, but he has it slicked back slightly and tucked so that it curls just so, around the bottom of his lobes. His eyes are the deepest shade of blue I've ever seen and the white of his shirt makes them pop. I would compare them to the depths of the ocean on a stormy night. They are just as tumultuous when you look into them. He has a dimple in his chin—the technical term being a cleft—full pink lips and what I can only describe as a strong, masculine jaw. I can't say that his mouth is what I'd usually see on any male as it appears to be sculpted out of the contours of his face and shaded so that the pink of his lips plays off the buttery tan of his complexion. He's utter perfection personified. Maybe he's a demi-god. Yeah, that sounded ridiculous to me too. I read too many fantasy romance novels. Sue me.

You should know, I notice all of this in the two point three seconds it takes him to walk in the door, down the aisle and looks to place himself in the seat next to me. I die on the spot. Yeah, I no longer have a pulse. As he sits, I'm resuscitated by the whoosh of air that washes over me when he plops down into the seat. The scent that comes off the man is mouth-watering. No, clench inducing. No, panty evaporating. Yes, that's it. He smells like a mix of sex, man, spice, sweetness and musk. Wait, did I mention sex? I don't think my description even does him justice. Just know that it's fantastic and I want it. All over me. Possibly even in me. Lots.

Because I'm so overcome with boldness (remember: plain Jane here) I pull a slick move—at least I think it's slick—and lean over ever so slightly and sniff him. Yeah, I died again. I quickly pull back and sink further into my seat. I notice from my periphery that the corner of his mouth pulls up slightly. Is he laughing at me? Is this sexy GQ motherfucker smiling because he caught me or is he toying with me? Yes, I've dubbed him "sexy GQ motherfucker" (sGQm for those of you who like acronyms) because that's what he looks like. I don't even need to know his name at this point.

I have to catch myself, because I've slid so far down in my chair that my ass is almost hanging off the edge of the seat. I discreetly push myself up using my right arm, which is farthest from him. I won't even risk touching some part of him. I'm sure he already thinks I'm a psycho for sniffing him. What _was_ I thinking? Oh right, wasn't thinking. I turn my head back to the window and sigh. Watching the scenery of the city go by always settles me. I marvel at the different houses, grassy spaces and snippets of the Schuylkill River we float by. The train is always so relaxing, but this morning, I'm strangely tense. As we seemingly glide by the unmoving landscape, I feel something brush against my left knee. The train does bump around a bit so it could have been sexy GQ motherfucker's knee, but it felt more like a finger.

I slowly drop my line of sight to my lap and ease my eyes over to my left. Yup, there's a finger touching my knee. But not just any finger. It's the pinky of sexy GQ motherfucker brushing against my hose covered knee. (*Note to self: no more wearing hose and be sure to shave legs every morning). I don't freak out about it because it could have been an accident, but it happens again.

Then again.

And again.

I have to look over just to be sure he's not doing it on purpose. I see his head is tilted down, a book open in his left hand, while his right hand rests suspiciously close to my knee. There's no more brushing but a gentle poking, a slight rub, a lingering touch. Can I just say that I've been touched by a man before. Really I have. But this—his pinky touching me is driving me nuts. I'm talking about full on clenching going on over here. You know what I mean. That tingle that starts in the lower belly then causes you to cross your legs to tamp shit down. The wetness inducing clenching. The type that makes me worry that when I go to stand up I'll be taking the seat cushion with me. Yes, that kind of clenching. I'm in trouble.

_Brush…_

**Clench.**

_Stroke…_

**Clench.**

_Rub…_

**Clench.**

I'm on fire and I don't want it to stop, but it has to. I'm afraid that if he keeps it up, by the time I need to get off the train the first two steps I take will result in me having an orgasm. A major moaning, spastic, best I've ever had orgasm. 'Cause my thighs rub together when I walk and they will rub just the way I need them to, to complete this transaction. So, in an effort to curb the way things are possibly going to play out, I cross my legs, taking my knee out of his reach. He clears his throat and I'll be damned if he doesn't shift in his seat so that his arm falls near… you guessed it, the same knee I just moved.

Another brush, stroke, brush. I now feel a slight sheen of moisture covering my forehead and my cheeks feel like they may be ablaze. I pull the courage from somewhere to say something to him. I pull my ear buds from my ears, have a quick internal pep talk and tap him on the shoulder. He looks up from his book—dropping a finger between the pages to keep his place—his blue eyes burning into me and smiles. Damn, I'm weak. I open my mouth to say something intelligent but all that comes out is a whispered, "'Cuse me."

He in turn opens his mouth and what comes out is "Ur sur durpity, blip blop, lurpty bup ulla." I shake my head because I'm positive he's speaking English and my brain is apparently broken. I've no clue what he's just said and my confusion must be written all over my face.

"I apologize. I forget that I am no longer in Sweden and must speak English."

Now that, I understand. He's Swedish? Sexy GQ motherfucker is from Sweden. Can I get any luckier today? His accent is delectable. Every word he speaks is heavily laden with inflections that make my lips quiver and I want to bathe in his speech. Oh the things his deep baritone does to me. He looks at me expectantly and I swallow before I can even think of what I'm going to say.

I take a deep breath and open my mouth.

"I'm sor—… you … touching… finger… um… rum, tum tummy…" What the fuck? Did I really just say that out loud? Come on Stackhouse!

He cocks his right eyebrow, then chuckles under his breath. I put a shaky hand to my face (trying to hide my shame, ineffectively I might add) and shake my head. I swear, I'm beginning to think I am surfing the low IQ wave. Why did I say that? I'm sure he thinks I'm either a psycho or mentally deficient in some manner. I'm positive it's the latter and I turn to back to look out the window, reveling in my self-imposed embarrassment. I'm just getting into the rhythmic motion of the train ride again when I feel him lean over. The warmth from his breath slides over the curve of my neck, and I try not to shudder. I fail. His lips brush against my ear as he whispers something that sounds like "Bluh, blotty, blippity blu ulp, Swedish," or something or other. He pulls back as I turn to face him and drops his head back to his open book, right hand still hanging over by my knee, sexy _Swedish_ GQ motherfucker smirk, firmly in place.

If he wants to play, we can play. I shift my legs again, putting my left knee directly under his open palm. He now has full access to it and that pinky of his rests just on the inside of my leg. If he wanted to, he could slide his arm up the armrest and his finger would brush right along the inside of my thigh.

**Clench.**

Okay, I did that one to myself.

I chance a glance at him and there's that corner of his mouth, turned up like he's smiling. He knows what he's doing to me. Man, am I that easy to read? I sit, legs slightly apart, waiting for him to make his move. The pinky starts moving again, but this time I know it's deliberately. He draws a slow circle along the inside of my knee, grazing the bottom portion of my thigh. Then he traces a wide S curve from the lower part of my thigh back to my knee. And that's followed up with an outstretched oval that makes me quiver involuntarily. I can't help but think about how wet I am. I must really need to get laid. Tara would say yes. "Hell's to the yes," to be exact.

I watch the familiar signs of entering downtown Philly come into view and take a deep breath to calm myself. I need to be sure I can stand up and get off the train without face planting, because at this point, I'm sure to. Well, that and the other thing I'm trying desperately not to think about. How embarrassing would that be? I can just see the headlines in the Daily News tomorrow, "Woman Has Screeching Orgasm During Morning Commute." Yeah, not thinking about that.

The sound of his book slapping shut brings me out of my thoughts. He pulls his right arm away and bends over to pick up his briefcase. He stands and moves to the aisle. He glances over his shoulder at me, shoots me a killer smile (at which point my panties find themselves completely drenched) and walks to the door to exit the train. It is then and only then, that I recognize we are at my stop. I hop up, making sure I have my things and head for the door (without coming or falling down!). I lose sexy Swedish GQ motherfucker in the crowd of commuters. It's probably because I took so long to get up that I didn't catch which direction he went in. But now I'm in my element, and I'm sure, in complete control of myself.

Or so I think.

I walk off the train platform and head into the heart of downtown. This is what I love about this city. The crowded streets, the hustle and bustle of people going to and fro. It all excites me. Almost as much as meeting the mystery guy on the train this morning. I stand stock still and look up at the passing clouds. It's moments like these I relish. Until of course a horn honking brings me back to the real world. I shake my head and begin my trek to the office.

I make it into the doors of Ellis & Ellis, the law firm for which I am a legal secretary, just at nine. I don't like to get here any earlier than my scheduled time. My boss is an Asshole—the capital A is necessary. I work nine to five and that's the only time I want to see him. I wave a quick hello to Amelia, the receptionist, and dash back to my cubicle. As soon as I approach my desk, my boss Bill flies out of his office flustered and panic stricken.

"Do you have everything set up in conference room six? My meeting begins in fifteen minutes and everything has to be perfect. No fuckups because this is a big deal. If there's anything less than perfection I'm screwed and I'll be sure you are too."

Wow, no good morning? How was the ride in? Nothing? Not that I'm surprised. Asshole.

"Yes, Bill. Everything is ready for your meeting with Mr."—I pull out my notepad with his meeting scheduled for today to double check the name— "… Northman. In fact, the caterer should be arriving any minute now."

My phone rings as if it knew it was saving me from another spiel from Assholio, and I pick it up with a bright and cheery, "Sookie Stackhouse."

I hang up and smile at Bill letting him know I'll be going to get the items requested for his meeting.

"I wanted coffee, sodas, breakfast items…"

"I know. I got everything you told me to get. If there's anything else you need just let me know and I'll make sure it's here before your client is."

"Good." With a curt nod he releases me from his dark brown gaze and I make it out front to meet the usual sandwich guy we use for meetings.

I wink at Amelia, and guide the delivery man to the back. Once in the conference room, I run around like a chicken with my head cut off, getting everything organized as perfectly as possible. I make it back to my desk with five minutes to spare and Bill flies out of his office at the very moment I sit down.

"We're all set?"

"Yes, Bill."

"Good. Don't go anywhere because I'll need you to make copies or something later."

"Yes, Bill."

My phone rings again (divine intervention I swear it) and I answer it in the same professional manner as before. Although I know it's just Amelia, with Bill standing in front of me, I won't let him catch me being lax.

"Sookie Stackhouse."

"Hello, Ms. Stackhouse," she sneers. "There is a Mr. Northman here for Mr. Compton."

"Thank you. I will let Mr. Compton know he's here."

I hang up knowing she is just going to call me back in a few minutes to ask why I answered the phone like that.

"Um, Bill? Mr. Northman is in the lobby."

He takes off without a word and I breathe a sigh of relief.

Amelia calls about five seconds after Bill is through the doors which separates the lobby from the offices and begins a barrage of questions that I don't have any answers to.

"Girl, who is the hot sexy piece of ass Bill's meeting with?"

"I don't know Ames."

"You do. I know you do."

"I don't—"

"Have you talked to him? Do you know why he's here? What's his first name?"

"Um, sort of, yes and hang on while I look it up." I reach over to a file folder which has recent correspondence in it. The only thing I find written to him are letters addressed to an E.L. Northman. Well, that doesn't help. His name could be anything from Edward to Evan. Mmm… Edward Northman has a nice ring to it. But then I remember he's Swedish so it's probably something more exotic than that.

I sigh as I listen to Amelia go on and on about her sexcapades and whatever else she feels like telling me until a call comes through the switchboard.

"Okay, I gotta go, but we have to meet up later 'cause I want details."

"Yeah, yeah, Ames. I'll see you later."

I boot up my computer and look over the vast expanse of my desk, noticing how empty of work it is. Crap. So not only do I have to sit here waiting for Bill to call me to make copies, I won't have anything to do while I wait. After about ten minutes of doing nothing, I get a pleasant surprise when Lafayette Reynolds stops by my cube. He's an associate at the firm and he's been here about three years—two years longer than I have. He's cute, funny, and always hits on me. Why he doesn't think it's inappropriate, I'll never know, but he just won't quit. And honestly, I don't mind. It makes me feel… sexy. Or harassed. I'm not sure which one yet. He always looks sharp, too. Today he's in a navy suit with a barely discernable houndstooth pattern, and deep purple tie setting off the white of his shirt.

"Hello there, Miss Stackhouse. How are you this fine morning?"

"I'm not too bad, Lafayette. You?"

"I'm much better now that you're here. But I could swear when I saw you fly in this morning you were all flustered."

"What?"

"Yeah, your cheeks were bright pink and a few of your hairs were sticking to your forehead. You sure you feel okay?"

"I'm fine. Just uh, had to rush in this morning."

"You always get here at nine on the dot. You don't rush. What gives?"

He smiles a knowing smile at me and I brush it off.

"Nothing doing."

"Unh huh. Liar. So how about lunch?"

_Ring!_

Saved by the phone again. It's Bill. I can only imagine what his pasty, pudgy, pompous pistachio eating ass wants now. _I love my job, I love my job, I love my job._

I pick up the receiver with a smile on my face. Not that I feel happy at the moment since it's him calling me, but I try to fake it.

"Yes, Bill?"

"I need you to come to the conference room ASAP!"

"I'll be right—" The fucker hangs up before I can finish my sentence. Asshole.

"I gotta run, Laf. I'll see about lunch later."

"Okay, darling. You know where I am."

He winks at me as I walk away from my desk. I don't have to turn around to know he's watching my ass, but I do anyway. I like the attention. What?

I get to the conference room without breaking my neck and knock twice, swiftly, before opening the door. I inhale deeply trying to further calm myself when a familiar scent hits me. I freeze. Bill doesn't even look up at me and hands over a stack of documents.

"_Holy Santa Clause shit!"_

"Excuse me?"

Shit! I said that out loud? "Um, sorry. What?"

"Sookie, I need two copies of this right away," Bill all but barks at me. He's wearing his usual grimace and I know I'm in for it.

I quickly take the documents from his hand but don't budge. I'm locked in Mr. Northman's gaze. It's the sexy Swedish GQ motherfucker from the train. Damn. He smiles at me. Then I panic and wonder if he's smiling because he's being polite and doesn't want to embarrass me further or because he likes _Step Brothers_, too? I think I smile back, but it could have been a frown, or the quick jerk of the corner of my mouth, to absolutely nothing. I back out of the room when I hear Bill clearing his throat. I can't believe I said that out loud. I could have sworn my mouth was shut.

The silent click of the door closing brings me out of my inner tirade and I hear Bill's mumbled apologies through the door. I all but run to the copy room to get away from the conference room as quickly as possible. I stand at the machine, running through the events of the past few minutes repeatedly, trying to figure out how to fix them. I remember Bill's threat from earlier for absolute perfection and my outburst, I wouldn't call it perfection. I make sure the copies are all perfectly, neatly stapled and clipped together. I walk back to the conference room with my head held high and attempt a small smile. I knock on the door again and enter quietly, placing the documents on the table near Bill. Just as I'm putting them down a few other people walk in behind me and take their places at the table. One of them being Selah Pumphrey. She's Bill in a skirt. And she's so far up his ass that she does all the walking for him. She shoots me a "fuck you bitch" smile and I fight back a grimace desperate to break free. I don't dare look anywhere else as I can't handle if Mr. E. L. Northman is looking at me like the idiot I'm sure he thinks I am. I turn to leave the room, this time running to the bathroom once I'm clear of the door. I douse my face with cool water and once I've calmed down, I walk back to my desk.

After a few hours of checking my email, looking at my Twitter feed and Tumblr, I look over at the clock to see it's about lunchtime. I don't go at twelve because it's madness outside during that time. I wait until I think the crowds have died down before heading out, which is usually around one. I collect my purse and iPod and get ready to go in search of Lafayette. At least he can make me feel better.

Before I can walk away from my cube, the phone rings. Do I answer it, or not? I know its Bill. He always calls at the most inopportune times. Asshole.

"Yes, Bill?"

"Conference room now. Please."

_Click._

At least he said "please." That's a first.

I bring my things along with me. I'm not missing out on lunch because he wants to pull the boss card. I walk into the conference room to see the room is clear of everyone but Bill and Mr. Sexy Swedish GQ Motherfucker Northman. They are both casually leaning against the table talking about sports.

"So, Sookie, since you're a Philly native, I figured you'd know where the best places are to eat?"

"Uh… ungh." That was supposed to be 'yes.'

"Good. Mr. Northman is hungry and he'd like a suggestion. Be a good girl and help him out?"

Bill pats my shoulder as he leaves the room. He leaves the room! I follow him with my eyes, frozen to the spot I'm in. Mr. Northman clears his throat and I chance a look at him. He's smiling but that could mean anything.

"So, what exactly does 'rum tum tummy' mean? It sounds delicious."

For the third (?) time today, I died. Right there on the spot. But then he laughs and I can't help but laugh with him. It's my nervous laugh, but he doesn't know that.

"I'm sorry. I could not resist. Are you heading out to lunch?" He nods to my purse in my hand.

I nod. It's safer.

"Would you mind if I join you? Anything is fine. I'm famished."

I nod again.

He walks over to me and places his hand at the small of my back, ushering me from the room. We walk to the elevators together and I can't even look at Amelia. I already know what she's probably thinking and I'll hear it later. Boy, will I. the doors open with a ping and we step into the small metal box. I do not need this. As soon as we step into the thing, his scent overwhelms me and I feel myself sway into him. He catches me with a firm grip on my elbow and sets me upright. Dammit I'm a lightweight.

"Are you okay, Sookie?" He knows my name? He knows my name!

"Uh, um, unh." (Yes, I'm fine.)

He smiles again, holding onto my arm offering me support. The doors open and we join the group of other lunch goers. I take him to the Cosí near the office because it's the only place I go. I like it, why bother with something else?

He tries to make small talk with me but all I can do is grunt and speak in one syllable utterances. He has to think I'm brain damaged. I do. Once we get to Cosí, I walk up to the counter and the guy behind the counter (Sam) yells my order to the sandwich maker (Terry). I always get the same thing—the Chicken T.B.M Melt. They know me here. Mr. Northman places his order—Steakhouse Gorgonzola Melt—and we get our sandwiches and head over to a pair of unoccupied stools at the storefront window. I hadn't noticed how tall he was until we were standing next to one another in the elevator. I have to look up at him still while we're sitting side by side. He digs into his sandwich and I only stare ahead watching the influx of the crowd on the street.

"Are you not hungry?" he asks.

I nod.

"Then you should eat."

I nod.

"Is something wrong? Did I do something to upset you maybe? It was the train ride wasn't it? I shouldn't have been so comfortable touching your leg. I apologize for my forwardness. I don't usually flirt with strangers but I could not help myself."

I shake my head. I can tell he wants to say more, but he pauses and thinks about something before speaking again.

"Okay, how about this? We start over. Forget about meeting on the train earlier and begin anew. Hello, I am Eric."

"Sookie." Yay! I said my name.

I smile, as it's all I can manage for conversation, and open my sandwich. I take a few small nibbles, hoping to be able to function like a normal human being in front of him. He watches me intently as I take a bigger bite of my sandwich and close my eyes, moaning at how delicious it tastes. It's not that I haven't had this same exact sandwich before, but today it just seems… better. I look over at him and he's holding his sandwich a few inches from his mouth—which is hanging open and still looks sexy as hell—watching me. I swallow my bite and look away, blushing. My cheeks are incredibly warm and I'm sure they're darker than the rose colored blush I put on this morning.

I take another bite, but not until Eric has bitten into his lunch first. He smiles while chewing and I try to bite back another moan as I feel the tangy sweetness of sundried tomato on my tongue. I love sundried tomatoes. Love them. I finish off my lunch with a few more moans and dramatic eye roll motions. I catch Eric staring at me with a look that could only be described as "I wanna take you home and fuck you from now until we both pass out from exhaustion." Had he been thinking that or asked me, I would have said yes. He offers to get dessert—Crème Brulee Cheesecake—to which I nod emphatically. It's good. Really good. He finds out just how good too as he takes a bite and his eyes roll back in his head. I laugh and he smiles sheepishly at me.

"What? It's really good. You're one to talk Miss Moans-with-every-bite-she-takes. You are killing me over here."

My face heats up again as I'm sure it's turning a bright red. I do not blush. Ever. So why he's bringing it out of me, I'll never know.

After dessert is finished, we walk back to the office in silence, his hand brushing mine on occasion. I feel closer to him in the few minutes we've spent together but my lack of speech is a bit disconcerting. He must know I'm nervous or else I think he would have bailed on me awhile ago. Stepping onto the elevator, he turns toward me and looks me over with a curious disposition.

"Would you have dinner with me? Tonight?"

"Um, I uh…"

"I know today has been … taxing and I would like to do something nice for you. Please. And I don't like the way Bill speaks to you." He looks at me pointedly and I can't help but smile.

Ah, so that's why Bill said please. Eric must have said something to him. Wow.

"Sure." I could get at least that one word out.

"Great. What time do you get off?"

"Five."

"I'll meet you here then. In the lobby."

I nod really unable to say anything else at this point.

"Great. Until then, _Sookie_."

He nods at me as we step off the elevator, going in our different directions. I run straight for the bathroom and make sure the stalls are all empty. I squeal a little, do my happy dance which consists of the Running Man, a few fist pumps and a really bad Cabbage Patch. It's my happy dance and I like it. I look at myself in the mirror and there it is again. Red cheeks, sweaty brow. I splash my face with a bit more water and dab it dry with a few paper towels. I head back to my desk wondering what Eric is going to do for the next few hours. Once I drop off my purse, I go back to the conference room to clean up whatever is left from Bill's meeting. Eric's scent lingers and so do I. I know I'll be seeing him later, but I can't get enough of his cologne. Oh yeah, I'm screwed.

The day flies by in a resplendent blur. I shut down my computer, make sure my desk is clear and grab my purse, heading to the ladies room to prepare for my dinner date. I freshen up my makeup, make a few other adjustments to my ensemble and I'm all set. Before I can round the corner into the main hall to get on the elevator, Lafayette calls my name.

"You dodged me for lunch today. I'm hurt," he feigns disappointment with a pout.

"I'll have lunch with you tomorrow. Promise."

"I'm holding you to that, Sookie." He pauses, looks me over, then speaks again. "Where are you going tonight? You look… hot."

I laugh as we step into the elevator car. "Thanks, L. I um, have a date."

"A date? And it's not with me? Oh, no. Who is this asshole taking you out tonight?"

"Bill's client, Eric Northman."

"Ah… guess there's no hope for me then, huh? He's tall, handsome, rich. I get it." He winks, telling me he's only kidding.

"You know, if I didn't know you were just messing with me, I'd have to report you for sexual harassment. We only do lunch dates. The last time I tried going out with you—"

"Don't remind me. I apologized to you for that, right?"

"Repeatedly. It's forgotten. Listen, could you not say anything about this to anyone? I don't want any rumors to start flooding the office."

He makes a motion like he's zippering his mouth shut and pulls me to him in a half hug. We step off the elevator into the downstairs lobby and I stop in my tracks. Eric is there waiting for me, surrounded by every "single" bitch in the office. The whorish redhead, Arlene has her nasty long red nails tracing patterns on his lapel. Selah, is hanging off his left arm, her head thrown back, laughing. Even Dawn, one of the temps, is in front of him, pushing her breasts up for better visual. I shake my head and Lafayette laughs next to me.

"I'll say this, you will be one hated bitch tomorrow. But I got your back. I'll keep the whores away."

"Thanks, L," I mutter.

Eric looks down at his watch then over toward the elevators, where I'm standing. He looks relieved. He raises a hand to me and says goodbye to his fan club. They all turn to see who he's waving to and their faces fall, then turn into hideous scowls. Eric walks toward me with a beautiful smile on his face and I can't help but mimic it. Lafayette says goodbye or something (but I'm not really listening) and Eric walks up to me, taking my hand in his.

"You look radiant, Sookie. Are you ready?"

I nod. I'm as ready as I can be. I don't know what he and Lafayette are talking about. I only applied a little mascara, new blusher, freshened up my lip gloss, put my glasses away, let my hair down and removed my blazer. I still look the same.

We head to The Capital Grille on the corner of Broad and Chestnut Streets. This is always a busy section of downtown, but I love Broad Street. There's always so much to see and do, especially down this end heading toward South Philly. Walking down the street with him, I watch as women break their necks to get a second glance at him, or look up into his face. One such "woman" walks into a street light pole because she's so busy staring that she didn't see it "pop out" in front of her. At least, that's her story. I laugh to myself as Eric hardly notices the incident. His eyes haven't left my face as he talks about how he loves the buzz of the city.

"This is not too different from city life at home, but I always love the feel of being in the middle of everything. Do you not agree, Sookie?"

"Uh… yeah," I squeak. I swear, I need to get a handle on my speech and fast.

We make it to the restaurant and are lead to a table out of the way of most of the diners. I like the privacy and it seems a man like Eric is used to it. Once our waiter (thank you God it's not a woman!) comes to take our drink orders. I down my gin and tonic without taking a breath. I need the liquid courage if this evening is to be enjoyable. Eric can't do all the talking no matter how much I love to hear the bass of his voice or the rhythmic lilt of his accent as he says certain words.

"Can you say vegetable?" I ask. Maybe I shouldn't have drained my glass as quickly as I did. Alcohol has shot straight to my brain.

He laughs and says, "Veg-ee-tah-bal. Does that make you happy?"

I nod. "I love your accent."

"You're speaking in full sentences now. That's good."

"The booze helps." Classy.

"Wow! You need to drink to talk to me?"

"That's not what I meant. I'm sorry. You make me nervous."

"And you're no longer nervous," he asks, eyes hooded.

"OH yes… I'm nervous, but in a good way."

"Well, I'll happily say anything you like so long as you continue to talk to me." He takes my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze.

"How about my name? I love the way it sounds coming from your lips."

He smiles and the waiter comes back to take our order. I get another drink. We both settle on steak (naturally) and asparagus as a side. Eric tells me about his life back in Sweden and why he met with Bill today. He's thinking about expanding his company to America and wouldn't mind having an office on the East Coast. Well, that bodes well for me; especially if he'll be here to oversee things personally. We talk a bit more, learning about one another, feeling each other out—not up like I wish—and eventually the evening winds down.

"Sookie, I know I've only known you a few short hours, but I feel like we are old friends. Do you feel that, too?"

"I do. I know things didn't get off to a great start this morning because I'm such a spaz, but I'm not complaining. I'm happy to have met you."

"Me too. I would like to see you again. I will be leaving for home in the morning but I will return. Can I see you then?"

"Of course. Sure. I would like that. Do you know when you'll be back?"

It sounds like he mutters, "Not soon enough," but he says more loudly: "In a couple of months. Bill will be overseeing the transfer of equities to a company I'm planning to purchase and I'll be back to finalize the transaction. But…" he lets the sentence trail off.

"We can email. Or web chat. I'm not too technologically advanced, but I have figured out how to use my webcam."

"Oh, you have one?"

"I do. I use it sometimes to talk to my friend Tara. She's down south. It's cheaper to talk online than calling her on the phone. And the faces she makes when she gets excited always make me laugh. So… I'm a clown. I know."

"No. I think you are wonderful."

I blush. Dammit.

"Thank you, Eric. I don't think I've ever been complimented so much in my life."

"Is that true? Is every man you come into contact with blind or just stupid?"

"No. I think I give off a 'stay away from me' vibe." _Except when it comes to Lafayette._

He scoffs. "I did not get that when I sat next you this morning. In fact, I thought you were calling me to sit next to you," he smiles as the words leave his lips.

"I was looking out the window when you boarded the train."

"Not true. You were watching me. I can prove it."

I hold up my hands in a stop motion. "That's okay. I don't need to be embarrassed any further," I laugh. I glance down at my watch and Eric clears his throat.

"It is getting late. I should get you home."

"I'm just going to catch the train back. I enjoy the ride."

He smiles as I finish my sentence and I mentally smack myself at the double entendre I did not intend. It's the gin.

"I will ride with you. I'm staying with a friend in… Bryn Mawr."

"Really? I'm in Paoli. They're not too far from one another."

"Not like Sweden and the US."

I hear the gravity of his statement in his voice and smile sadly, trying to think of something else to say. We leave the restaurant in silence and walk toward the train station. My hand brushes Eric's a few times before he takes hold of it. I look down at the connection then up at him. He smiles and squeezes my hand a little tighter. I enjoy the sensation of the warmth of his hand engulfing mine.

The car we're on is nearly empty. I count at least two other people riding along with us saying goodbye to the city, heading out into the 'burbs. I glance down at our joined hands sitting on the arm rest between us and wonder what it would be like to have this, have him, every day. When I look up at Eric, I see he's watching me. His eyes smolder as he leans toward me. I brace myself for his kiss. I know its coming and my heart races as my body reacts to his proximity. But he doesn't kiss me. He whispers something in my ear. In Swedish. I've no idea what he's said and I don't care. My answer is yes.

"You have no idea what I just said to you."

Shit. I must have said that last line out loud. Seriously need to work on the brain/mouth filter.

"It doesn't matter. I'd say yes to anything you wanted right now."

"Really?"

I gasp in surprise as his teeth nip my ear lobe. The warm roughness of his tongue smoothes up the outer shell of my ear as his free hand finds my knee. I shiver at his touch, wanting more, wanting it all over. My mouth falls open, a small moan escaping as his hand reaches higher up my thigh. That little thing he did earlier on the train? Does not fucking compare. This full on touching (as PG as it is) has me ready to explode.

I hear the doors open as the other two people who are in our car leave. And with them go my inhibitions. In one smooth (or so I think) move, I hop onto his lap, straddling his thighs, each of my legs falling to either side of his. I'm in the perfect position to kiss him. He looks at me before pulling me closer to him. I tease him a little. I pull back a bit to see if he'll follow, and he does. I nip at his chin, running my tongue along the dimple there and brush my lips against his. He reaches up to hold my face to his and touches my lips with the tip of his thumb. He traces the outline of my mouth before leaning even closer to press his lips to mine. Gently, then more forcefully, he tastes every inch of them before his tongue sweeps the outside of my mouth. I open obligingly, wanting him to enter me. The warm undulating flesh brushes against mine and he groans as our tongues collide again and again.

If I could score this moment, I would choose "Sex and Candy" by Marcy Playground. He feels like sex and tastes like candy. Or is it that he tastes like sex and I feel like candy in his hands? How can one man be the epitome of sex without me having seen him naked? I don't know, and I don't care. What I do know is I'm lucky to be here, on this train, in his lap, being kissed like I've never been kissed before. My hips move involuntarily, causing him to raise his to meet each brush against his hardness. Oh yes, he's thick, long, and stiff as a steel rod. What I wouldn't give to be a slut like Arlene right about now. I'd fuck him on the train, in this seat without a second thought. But, I'm not Arlene. I'm a good girl. Or, as good as I want to be.

My fingers run through his hair, holding him to me. His hands smooth up and down my back, resting on my hips, guiding my movements. His mouth falls open as he groans again, the sound shooting straight to the warmth between my thighs. I want him to touch… I want him to taste… He nips at my bottom lip, licking it lazily, sucking it into his mouth. His eyes flash as I pull back to take a much needed breath. His scent overwhelms me, drowning me in the pheromones permeating his pores, pulling me into a sense of abandonment. I moan as I feel him brush against my lace covered, pulsating nub. The pressure is just enough to send me over the edge—shockwaves of pleasure vibrate through my thighs and up my torso. My head lolls back allowing him access to my neck which he licks, nibbles and sucks. The feel of his lips against my skin is akin to soft, plump fleshy pleasure fulfillers.

No more alcohol for me.

My buzz is in the background of my mind as my body gives over to the desirous torment of Eric's hands roaming my curves like sinuous streams of water. With an abrupt jerk of movement (we are on a train), I slide up Eric's lap, brushing his straining member behind his zipper. He bites down on the soft flesh of my shoulder, muffling his moan. His fingers dig into my hips, causing me to cry out. He lifts his head from my shoulder, mumbling in what I can only guess is Swedish. He smiles up at me and I run my tongue over his lower lip. He shudders, gripping me even tighter and I fall into his chest, cradling myself against him, never wanting to move.

His hand brushes back my hair from my forehead, lingering on the nape of my neck. I shiver again, electricity passing through his fingertips into the sticky flesh it rests upon. Our eyes meet for a brief moment. He presses his forehead to mine, whispering against my lips. I long to hear whatever he has to say but his voice never rises above the hushed tone.

"My stop is next," he mutters.

"Is it? I hadn't noticed," I say with a beaming smile between breaths.

He counters with a similar expression before kissing me with an urgency that makes my knees weak.

"I don't want to say goodnight."

"Neither do I, but you will be back, right?"

"That I will. Definitely. Would you come see me, Sookie? If I made arrangements?"

I think before answering. "I wouldn't mind the trip but Bill…"

"Leave him to me. I will suggest it and it will be fine. You know, I can walk you to your door. Just to be sure you make it there safely. The train runs until late, yes?"

"Yes," I whisper.

We ride the rest of the way to my stop, speaking in murmured whispers about nothing in particular, peppering each other with kisses when the mood strikes. I take in as much as I can of him since I know he'll be gone in the morning. Once we reach my door, I'm warring with myself. I can invite him in, but it would be too soon. But dammit if I don't want to. He senses my apprehension and decides for me. With a chaste kiss to my forehead, he bids me goodnight and turns to walk back to catch the train to Bryn Mawr. I lean against the front door once it's closed, banging my head against the paneled wood. There's so much more I wanted to say, wanted him to know, but it'll have to wait.

_2 months later…_

My phone rings as soon as Bill has cleared out of the hall. He's been acting strangely toward me ever since Eric called and requested I come to Sweden last month to oversee his company's daily operations. Apparently, he'd told Bill he wanted to hire me on for some position at the new East Coast base of operations. It was all a shock to me, but I knew better. I played along until Eric told me it wasn't a ruse, but the truth. He'd thought about it during the short separation we had to endure before I could make it out to see him. What a week that was…

I answer in my professional tone because of the outside number. "Sookie Stackhouse."

"Hallå, Älskling. I've missed you."

My heart races at the sound of his voice and my words come out in a whisper. "I've missed you too. Are you here?"

"Hmm… possibly. What do I get if I am?"

"You get whatever you want."

"You. Naked. Now."

"Okay, almost anything. I am at work, buddy. Seriously though, are you here?"

"Maybe…"

Movement just above my desk catches my eye and I look up to see a casually dressed Eric, in a black v-neck tee shirt and dark wash jeans, smiling at me with his cell phone in hand. If he wasn't so damned cute, I'd be pissed.

I drop my phone and rush around my desk to hug him. His warm arms engulf me and I melt into him.

"You're here!" I yell.

He laughs and kisses me on the neck before releasing me. "I am. And I'm all yours."

"For how long?"

"Well, for as long as you will have me."

Little does he know, I want to have him forever.


End file.
